A Mother's Guilt
by Catmint
Summary: [LightningStruck Tower arc] Following the dramatic events of HBP, Narcissa Malfoy is limited as to where she can turn for help, and the guilt of her role in what happened is weighing her down. Blood is perhaps, as the saying goes, thicker than water.


**A Mother's Guilt**

**Disclaimer:** unfortunately, greatly though I would desire otherwise, the characters are not mine, nor do I make even a farthing from them.

÷

Part of the **_Lightning-Struck Tower_** arc, which encompasses various characters' perspectives from the _Half Blood Prince_ chapter of the same name.

Caroline – sorry it's taken me soooooooo long to post it (given that I said I'd post it after IVFDF, which was over 3 weeks ago!)

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The Muggle street is dark as I hurry up the short, crazy-paved path that leads to the blue door with the bronze-coloured knocker, letterbox and doorbell. In spite of everything that has happened recently, I cannot prevent myself from smiling; even though she is in her forties now and left Hogwarts more than twenty years ago, the Ravenclaw in the younger of my two older sisters has not departed her.

Before ringing the doorbell (plainly as Muggle as can be), I take great care to ensure that my hair is secured out of sight under my hood, that my face is half-hidden. I cannot risk identification by others who may be lurking. Not now. I deliberately waited for cover of darkness – although I am assisted by my sister's decision to live in a detached house at the end of the road with few security lights (spells render such things useless when one security ward can trigger goodness-knows-what). Darkness is my friend.

The door opens as far as the attached chain will permit it to. "Who is it?" demands a man's voice as a small sliver of light from the lit hallway narrowly misses my shoulder. I move away from it.

"Cissy," I answer in a low voice.

A heavy pause. Then, "What do_ you_ of all people want?" He sounds suspicious, aggressive. I cannot blame him.

I start shifting my weight back and forth from one foot to the other repetitively, my stomach knotting with anxiety. They could call the Ministry at any moment – their daughter (my niece) is an Auror, after all. This could be a substantial mistake on my part.

But I have no other option. I have to take a chance. "Help. Protection."

"Why should I let you in?" He does not remove the chain from the door.

"It's called _family_ – something you Mudbloods appear to know very little of!" I spit out, the insult reactionary, honed from years of use, past my lips before I can bite it back. I've always been too impulsive for my own good, and that reaction could cost me dear.

His sharp intake of breath is clearly audible. "I have nothing to say to you, in that case." He moves to shut the door in my face.

"Wait!" a woman's voice – one I have not heard since her departure from the family home more than twenty years ago – cuts in. Footsteps approach. "Who is it, Ted?"

"Your sister."

"Which one?"

"Do you really think Bella would be standing here making small talk? She'd have killed me the moment I'd opened the door."

"That's true."

I realise that I am twisting my fingers together from sheer anxiety. "_Please_, just let me in! I _have_ to talk to you!" I'm pleading now – something I never resort to unless I am absolutely desperate.

"Only if you hand over your wand."

_Not_ something I want to do – or feel safe doing – but I have no other way of getting inside and talking to my sister away from possible eavesdroppers. I don't know if anyone has followed me here. So I take my wand from its pocket inside my robes and (reluctantly) hand it through the small gap in the door into my brother-in-law's outstretched hand. Both disappear inside and the door is momentarily shut to allow for the removal of the chain. This is what comes of living in a Muggle house; each comes with built-in security.

The door opens again, wider this time, and I am swiftly – and somewhat roughly, much to my annoyance – hauled inside into the light. The door is speedily closed behind me. I am suddenly aware that I am shaking as I reach up to remove my hood, making it difficult to carry out the task, so badly do my hands tremble. My sister assists me, taking off the cloak and hanging it on a spare peg. "What brings you to _my_ doorstep, Narcissa?" Her voice contains as much warmth as the Arctic at the depth of winter. She and Ted immediately begin to intensely scan me, to identify and remove any spying charm or device that may have been attached to me (most likely courtesy of my eldest sister). Fortunately they find nothing.

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and to quell the shaking. "I – I need help. Protection. Somewhere to hide."

"From whom?"

My heart sinks and my head drops as despair begins nibbling at the edge of my heart and mind. They will not help me. I was foolish in coming here. Of that, I am certain. "Bella. The Dark Lord. His followers."

I jerk my head upward as a hand is placed on my shoulder, and my eyes meet my sister's hazel ones, softer than they were before. "Let's go into the living room. Ted will put the kettle on for us."

I am guided to the living room. As I reach a chair, my knees buckle (from exhaustion, most likely; I have not slept since the night before last) and Annie directs me down into a comfortable armchair. She retreats to another chair and leans forward, eyes fixed intensely upon my face. I cannot bear her gaze and I avert my gaze, staring at my hands, which I am still wringing together incessantly. I can't help it. I don't know what to say, where to begin, what to do…

"What's going on, Narcissa?"

That snaps my mind back on track. "I – I've been stupid, Annie," I whisper. I can hear my voice tremble, despite my best efforts to stop it from doing so. "I've been _so_ stupid…I – I – I let Bella persuade me…I wish I'd never got it…"

"Got what?" asks Annie. She sounds confused, but her voice betrays her suspicions.

I wrench my shaking hands apart and slowly, hesitantly, pull back my left sleeve to the elbow. I cannot bear to look as that despicable Mark is displayed for all to see.

"Ah."

Her expression is impassive as she sits in silent contemplation. I wish I knew what is going through her mind! Will she now decide that she does not dare keep me in her house? Worse, will she summon an Auror, to throw me into Azkaban until I am but a shell, a living corpse?

"Why, Cissa? Why did you do it?"

I shake my head. I cannot answer, for I myself do not know.

"How can I trust you?"

"I don't know." It comes out as a mere whisper, an admission of defeat.

"Why did you come _here_, of all places?"

"Family. I – I hoped you could give me another chance."

"What's brought about this change of tune?" Her voice is sharp. She looks up as her husband brings in two mugs of tea and sets them down on a side table. "Thanks, Ted."

Something flares violently in me and I jump to my feet, furious. "My son has disappeared, Andromeda! He's been forced to run because of what the Dark Lord wanted him to do! He wanted my son to become a _murderer_! And now he's gone on the run and I have no idea where he is, _how_ he is, what he's doing – even if he's still alive!" I stop my tirade abruptly, gasping for breath. I'd been shouting by the end. The reality has just fully hit me.

Annie puts her mug to one side and comes over to me. "I'm sure he's fine, Cissy."

"But you don't _know_!" I wail, desperately scared by now, nearly hysterical. "_Nobody_ knows! Is he with Severus? Is he on his own? He could be being tortured at this very moment! And it's _all my fault_!"

Annie draws me into a hug. The moment contact is made, I lose the last shred of control I have. I'm crying, desperately, hysterically, shaking. It's my fault. _My_ fault. _My fault_. My son is gone because of me…

Eventually Annie's gentle rocking and back-rubbing calms me to a reasonably coherent state. I take big, deep breaths and accept the proffered handkerchief. Annie leads me to the sofa and sits my sniffling, hiccuping person down, hugging me tightly, holding me close to her chest, both arms wrapped protectively around me. I feel as though I am a child again; whenever Bella did something unpleasant to me – a fairly frequent occurrence, tormenting her youngest sister being her favourite pastime – it was to Annie that I would go, and it was she who would comfort me. And so it was again.

"How is it your fault?" asks Annie gently. "More to the point, _what's_ your fault?"

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, pressing closer to her. I need that physical comfort from her and she obliges, resting her chin on top of my head. After a short silence, I whisper, "A-A-Albus Dumbledore's death."

I can feel her tilt her head to one side, and though I cannot see, I know her face will bear a confused expression. "Forgive me my puzzlement, but from what my daughter – a reliable source of information, seeing as she was actually at Hogwarts last night when it all happened – tells me, it was Severus Snape who killed him, was it not? You weren't even at the school, Cissy! Unless you were under Polyjuice Potion and masquerading as Snape at the time – which I know for a fact you weren't – I don't see how it _can_ be your fault."

"Because I persuaded Severus to make an Unbreakable Vow!" I burst out, pulling violently away from Annie, crying again.

She is silent, contemplative (something Ravenclaws are a lot), as she pulls me to her again. I let her do so; I need it. It is some time before she next speaks, and by the time she does, I am half-dozing, exhausted from worry and from crying.

"I think you need to start at where you feel the beginning to be," she counsels at last. "Explain things to me."

I am alert again and pull away. This time I bury my head in my hands. "You know of the Mark I bear. I willingly took it when I was eighteen, a week after leaving Hogwarts. You know what our parents were like – all that pureblood-supremacy stuff."

Annie laughs bitterly. "All too well."

"The Dark Lord's cause was…appealing to me," I continue, amazed at how calm and collected I am. I don't feel it. "Bella recruited me. I believed in the cause. I endured the initiation – agony for which there are no words – and received the Mark. I married Lucius. I carried on in my role as information-gatherer and accompanied others on their 'missions' to ensure that they were trustworthy and would not back out of their task. I rarely participated – Lucius protected me from that much – and I was glad. Bella, naturally, revelled in torture, death and destruction."

Annie snorts scornfully. "_That's _a surprise."

"Then I fell pregnant, with Draco. From a very early age, Lucius indoctrinated him in the pureblood-supremacy beliefs. Whenever Draco spoke on the matter, it always sounded rehearsed, parroted. He wasn't taught or permitted to think for himself.

"Lucius always wanted him to go to Durmstrang for school. I refused – it's too far, and although I confess it was partially selfish in that I would miss him too much, Draco has always been very sensitive. He'd have hated Durmstrang."

"Draco Malfoy, sensitive?" That sceptical, disbelieving tone.

I nod, raising my head to stare across the room to where Annie's now-cold tea sits, long forgotten. "He hid it by bullying and generally lashing out at others. I'd have taught him at home if I could.

"But back to the point in hand. Draco went to Hogwarts. I watched him come home each time, more and more determined to prove himself, yet always being painted as the villain. Dumbledore still has that pro-Gryffindor, anti-Slytherin streak; I doubt he knew he had it. Lucius encouraged the pro-pureblood stance. I knew better than to interfere, but I kept a close eye on Draco. This last year and a half he's been showing signs of cracking under the weight of expectation – insomnia, not eating properly, the withdrawn behaviour, starting to have panic attacks. Admittedly some of last year was the pressure of the OWLs.

"Lucius' arrest reinforced Draco's resentment of people like the Weasleys, Dumbledore, Harry Potter…all the so-called 'good guys', and he came home last summer determined to be Marked. I've never seen him so dark in thought and spirit. I tried to stop him, to persuade him to at least wait – he was too young, had no idea what he was getting himself into – but by then we had Bella living with us in the Manor. I should have been stronger, stopped him, not let Bella get to him."

"To be fair, she can be extremely persuasive," interjects my sister.

"But I _did_ let her get to him. That was one key event that was entirely my fault. If Bella hadn't persuaded him, he'd be safe with me now. I failed him –"

"Cissa, _stop_," interrupts Annie sharply.

I am confused; what was that for?

Annie must have realised my confusion. "You did _not_ fail Draco. He made that choice himself –"

"He doesn't know anything else!" I twist round to face her. "Both his parents bear the Mark. So does the aunt he'd had contact with – no, I'm not trying to get at you – and all have been actively promoting the Dark Lord's cause! I knew it wasn't something I wanted him to get involved with – he's too young, too innocent, to understand the full extent of what service to the Dark Lord entails! _I should have stopped him!_

"But I didn't. And he was given the task of killing Dumbledore himself. He pretended he was eager to do it and the others, including Bella, were fooled, but he's _my child_ and I know him too well. He was scared, Annie – terrified out of his wits! I alone knew that. Yet if he let them down, they would kill him. He knew that. But by then it was too late. So I went to Severus, his godfather – Severus, in whom the Dark Lord has absolute trust – and pleaded with him to help Draco, to watch over him. To complete Draco's task should my son fail. We made an Unbreakable Vow. Bella was the Bonder."

"And Draco failed, so Severus killed Dumbledore," my sister states, voice carefully neutral.

"Exactly! So you see, it's _my fault_ that Dumbledore is dead!" Annie opens her mouth, as if to disagree, but I need to explain further. "I let Draco take the Mark, and so he was assigned the task. I persuaded Severus to make the Vow, so when Draco failed, Severus completed the task. If I'd stopped Draco receiving the Mark, or not persuaded Severus to make that Vow, he wouldn't have done it! _I'm_ to blame, Annie! _Me_!" I break off into a howl of despair. "_What have I done_, Annie?"

Annie seizes me by the shoulders and violently shakes me. "_Stop it_, Cissy!" she orders. "You're being stupid and melodramatic. _Think_ about it – if it hadn't been Draco, it would have been some other kid. Or one of the other Death Eaters would have killed Dumbledore. And he was getting old and slow, from what Nymphadora tells me. My point is, _they would have found a way to do it anyway_. It is _not your fault_. Understand?"

"But Annie –"

"_Stop it_."

"But –"

"_Cissa_. There'll be no more talk of that now. It is _not your fault_."

Exhaustion suddenly hits me and I collapse into Annie's arms. She does not – _cannot _– understand. I, Narcissa Malfoy, am to blame for the death of Albus Dumbledore.

_What have I done?_

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**Ω fin Ω**


End file.
